


eleven twenty and a rum to share

by atsumoose



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bottom Iwaizumi Hajime, Gen, Haikyuu Spring Fling, Mentioned Iwaizumi Hajime, POV Iwaizumi Hajime, Pining Iwaizumi Hajime, Top Iwaizumi Hajime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:40:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27363646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atsumoose/pseuds/atsumoose
Summary: ⤥ a trashy, subpar party is the unholy setting where you happen to run into hajime iwaizumi (27) athletic trainer.• iwaizumi x f!reader• 4.3 k• warnings : drinking (characters are aged up)
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime & Reader
Kudos: 11





	eleven twenty and a rum to share

this wasn’t what you had compartmentalised in your head when your boss offered you the weekend off. to be perched in the nauseating proximity of the crowded dance floor with red blotched jowls from the heat that the jolly bodies discharged into their encompass, wasn’t the kind of weekend plan you had been looking forward to. sure, a party with your best friends sounded cool when the idea was initially put forth, but a lazy, thronged and cheap party divagated from your model idea of fun.

you had ordered the paperback edition of the first novel scribed on your to read list, wiped the dust collecting on your rocking chair, even set up the perfect playlist you’d need to enjoy the most optimum reading experience; every eligible thing you wanted to include in your perfect plan was set up for your ideal weekend off of work. unfortunately, kunimi akira and yutaro kindaichi had a varied set of their own version of an errorless weekend plan already drawn out for you. 

you were socked into attending a shady party thrown by a mutual acquaintance of kindachi, one he himself didn’t know existed until four days ago. before you nodded yes to the pair of coruscating puppy eyes and their beastly stretched list of reasons why y/n should attend the party, you coerced them into swearing to no excess drinking and no ditching you to bond with their ad interim lady friends. currently reality, however, begs to differ, straying miles away from your from the genesis shoddy expectations of the foully planned weekend.  
  
you’re currently positioned in the middle of a pair of exceedingly conventional party couples (the pre scandal, icky kind you always find at sub class parties like the one you’re at) who won’t halt at their guttural display of public affection. you’re in search of your pair of idiot best friends, kunimi and kindaichi, who dragged you into this shameful clutter of sweaty bodies and scattered groggy litter that’s snowballed in every singular corner anyone here is aware exists. 

your vision locomotes amidst the flailing, swinging, drunk bodies, looking for kunimi, only because you’re aware he won’t be a third as drunk as kindaichi. to hold a stable conversation with kunimi will be easier than to coerce kindaichi into a barely affordable exchange of words, not when he’s already two bottles down on vodka and a glass of wine or two. oh, and he has a girl keeping him some pleasant company too. that only plonks your chance of verbalising a tête-à-tête with kindaichi to a plain zero. 

“good for that damn dork.” you snort, eyes spooring off kindaichi and the female, to look for your second companion. there’s a slightly better chance he isn’t smooching a scrappy little nobody he found lurking around the place.   
  
you spot him at the little bar that’s been poorly set up in the farthest corner of the venue. he’s flumped on the centrally placed bar stool, leaning against the cold marble of the island, with his chin cupped in his right hand and an empty glass flute jangling in his left. he looks rather busy, admiring the bartender with gooey eyes and pink painted duplet of cheeks. she reciprocates his affection, flippantly waving her hand as she giggles shades of red and pink at the flattering words he has up his sleeve.

you roll your eyes in plain disbelief. clearly, your weak attempt to control the boys plummeted downhill even before you had the chance to initiate your night out. this wasn’t remotely close to the way you’d looked forward to spending your free weekend. when your best friends proposed the idea of a house party, you’d hoped to see an evening warranted by bingo, a couple of card games going around at different tables, and the worst possible game to exist, truth or dare, that you’d have instinctively dallied away from. this certainly didn’t halfway meet your definition of a benign house party, the way kindaichi proposed it; you are stuck in the middle of a literal grubby, nauseating garbage dump.

there was no point proven by thrusting kunimi and kindaichi into a pinky promise, the numberless reminders you sent on your group chat and the countless times they reassured you they won’t be ditching you tonight. the sight of your best friends entranced by the women skulking next to and atop their bodies, names forgotten (if they were exchanged at all) even before midnight swoops in, etched a slurry of phlegm up your pipe. it was decided then, you won’t be a guest to this party beginning the next second. you decided to head out, plan set on relaxing in the backseat of your car, because being the only sober out of the three, it was going to be your responsibility to drive the boys back home, safe, sound and in one piece. 

usually, you’d be pouring drink after drink down your tract, but tonight, you nestled a red cup in your hand, with water filled upto the brim. when it was a night out with the two jerks you loved a tad bit too much, you always ended the night playing the mom friend. you should’ve seen it coming, even before you agreed to put into action, the appalling weekend contraption they propounded. tonight ebbed and flowed the similar way as the umpteen night-outs before. 

—

you jog up to kunimi through the burgeoning swelter of the bopping horde, bumping into a couple people en route the derivative bar, apologising even louder, each time you clobber another warm body.

you bonk the back of his head, demanding his wavering attention. he flinches in pain, feeling excess of it due to the serene aftermath of chugging a few, and his hand quickly reaches out to rub the spot where you hit him. 

“ouch, rude.” his nose scrunches up in anger. the bartender, instantly uncomfortable on account of your unannounced presence, quickly paces away with a shame stamped face. 

“hey, wait.” kunimi jumps up on his feet, hand wriggling to halloo her back and keep her to himself for rest of the night, but she purrs a ‘sorry, need to go’, pinching her right ear in a pitied apology. 

“ugh, such a moodkill.” he grunts, squashing his flute on the marble counter in tiddly vexation. 

he gyrates to level your gaze. you’ve been standing next to his chair, vouching for the slightest scant of regard for the last three minutes. “y/n?” his eyes dilate wide at the sight of you. “what’s up?” he questions regarding your merry experience at the party, but you don’t have much to offer, considering you’ve spent the last three hours standing in different, uncomfortable locations, drinking several glasses of water. 

“i’m heading out, akira.” you respond dryly. 

“say what?” he raises an ear to listen to your words, the music in the backdrop being too loud for him to figure out your spoken message. 

“kunimi, i’ll be waiting in my car.” you speak, a little louder than usual, so your voice can reach your friend amidst the head-splitting, thrift store bought flimsy music tuning in the background. 

“leaving already, y/n?” he lifts his half filled flute that’s been on the marble top a while now, flopping back on the stool, still facing you. 

“i’m not having it, akira. this isn’t my kind of a party, plus i can really use a fresh breath or two, dude. it’s getting a little too stuffy for me in here.” you bid him a lumpered expression, twitching the corners of your mouth into a poorly dragooned smile. 

kunimi nods. “alright, see you later.” he pats your shoulder before pulling you into half a hug. “sorry for dragging you into this.” you hate to acknowledge it, but he reeks of gallons of beer. 

“it’s okay, at least two of us are having a gala time.” you roll your eyes, waging a chaff underneath to reassure him you’re completely fine with everything.

“bye, akira, don’t be too late. forty minutes before your ride leaves.” you flick his head before disappearing into the mob of dancing bodies. 

“alright, y/n.” he diverts back to leaning on the marble island, waiting for his salubrious camaraderie to make an unexpected return.   
  


it’s easy to wiggle your way out of the crowd if you follow the way the bodies move to the beat of the music. years of similar cheap, downbeat parties crashed alongside kunimi and kindaichi attest to the feasibility of the quick trick. 

—

heading out the door of the random apartment you spent the last three hours hanging around in, you finally get to breathe in the somewhat silent comfort of fresh air and free atmosphere. parties in small venues are stuffy and suffocating, with smell of alcohol and weed that leniently dawdles around, owing to the closed windows and the repetitive circulation of the exact air.

you slump down, pressing your spine against the door of the neighboring apartment, positioning yourself into a snug seating. you drop your head into your palms, heaving out a tired sigh. “that’s no good way to spend a free weekend.” you mutter, mopping the sweat off your face using your kerchief. it’s rather chilly tonight, nothing unusual for a night in october, but the lingering heat from the partying bodies forces you to unwrap your cardigan. you set it on the floor, next to yourself, before frisking around your bag for your cellphone to check in on the current time. eleven twenty, the screen flares at you.

“great.” you sigh. with a threatening headache knocking at the door, coveting to enter, and another forty minutes before the clock strikes midnight, you’re screwed if your best friends don’t make it out before twelve. 

you rummage through your bag, looking for a painkiller. your brain’s beginning to steadily pound against your skull and the deafening tune of the disco music prowling out the closed apartment door isn’t helping your cause much either. 

“not your kinda party?” you hear a voice approach from the front. with your vision focused on the insides of your bag, looking for the pills, it takes you a moment or two before you can look up at the owner of the quizzing sound. 

“too sweaty and mucky.” you say, tugging at the cardigan that’s been set on the floor, prepping yourself to stand up and walk to your car, swallow a pill and catch a few minutes of slumber to calm the throbbing pain. 

“i wasn’t having a good time either. so ended up outside with this guy.” he brandishes the compact green bottle of rum, before placing it on the concrete floor, to lend you a hand. 

its not second nature for you to talk to a perfect stranger, but the one who’s currently offering you assistance seems cool and composed. there’s a minuscule chance he’ll prove to be a pervert.

‘way to make a stupid assumption, y/n’, you mither to self, taking a mental note to never let yourself vacously accept help from a total stranger, specifically in a shady place like an old apartment building or a murky alley, aka, your current location. 

“say something?” he prods his body a little lower to catch your words, but a nodded no on your behalf makes him thresh his fingers, grilling you to accept his help.

your hand meets his, and he swiftly pulls you upward. you instantly withdraw, proceeding to dust the faint sooty spots off your raiments, while he ducks down to collect the bottle of rum that’s a fourth quaffed. 

“thank you.” you say, expressing your gratitude towards his kind action.

“no worries. just being a gentleman.” he laughs off the seemingly gentlemanly gesture. the sound of his chuckle is overpowering and too sinisterly contagious to be voluntarily ignored, so instantly, your lips vulnerably twirl into a wide grin too. 

“why are you here if you don’t like a party that runs like this one?” he takes a sip from the bottle and then offers it to you, holding it out in the space in between the two of you. 

“no, thank you. i’m all good.” you wave your hand sideways in denial and he pulls his belonging inward, withdrawing his hand to respect your choice. 

“it wasn’t my intention to come here, but my friends dragged me into this, and since i had nothing better to wager my weekend into, i didn’t rebuttal.” you reply to his former question, lightly rolling your eyes, etched with ire. “alright, i did kind of butt heads with them, but resorted to swinging along the same beat eventually.” you add, lightly shrugging. 

“ah, i see it now. i was dragged into this foolery by my best friend too.” his lips unite with the glass rim of the bottle once again, and his free hand sheepishly caresses the nape of his neck. 

“you sure you don’t want any, not even a sip?” he offers you the bottle of rum yet again, but you waft your hands into a cross sign, signaling a final no. 

“i need to drive my friends home. i’m not drinking tonight.” 

“that’s how it is. well, me and my friend took a cab here, so i guessed a drink wouldn’t hurt me. i’m not much of a drinker, anyways.” he fixates the metal cap on the neck of the bottle before tucking it in the middle of his abdominal muscles and his upper arm. 

“don’t mind me asking.” you begin. “why end up at a shabby place like this one if you don’t like to party? i’m sure your friend is a convincing little fellow, but you could’ve simply said no.” you ask, eyes temporarily straying away from his face to examine his toned bicep you took a notice of when he shoved the rum beneath it. 

his reply totes your field of vision back to his face. although your face paints a light pink, it’s a little dark for him to take a notice of the hurried mess you’ve transformed into.

“my friend lives in argentina. he comes home only when it’s off season. can’t really say no to his absurdities then.” he shrugs. you contemplate, it’s rubbed with morose, perhaps at the thought of missing having his friend by his side for most of the year. 

“well, sounds like you miss him a lot when he’s away, huh?” you purse your lips inward, looking at him gently, softening your demeanour to sympathise.

“of course, i do. we’ve known each other since we were kids. he’s also my only best friend, so i miss him a lot when he’s away.” he discloses, with a dismalness virguling his tone. he adds, chuckling at the taunting note about his best friend, “don’t let him know i admitted to it, though. if he ever finds out, he won’t shut up about it until either of us dies.” 

his transitory chuckle at the poorly forged joke warrants a giggle from your side too. 

“well, my friends live in miyagi, so it’s not like i don’t have around for most of the part. they’re just stubborn, and currently hooking up with girls. still don’t get why i always end up at such parties. i should just start saying no.” you roll your eyes halfway, before arresting their motion, then mildly shrug at your weak resolve. 

he laughs. 

he leans down against the grill, loosening the grip on the bottle before clutching it with his right hand. “eh, i don’t need you anymore. i’ve got a better company now.” he aims to drop the bottle in the waste bin that’s set next to the stairs, placed in a corner, and clearly visible from where you’re settled. 

his aim is perfect and it’s assured when the bottle strikes the overflowing bin, settling on top of the stockpile of swill and debris. 

“am i really a better company than an eight dollar bottle of rum?” you raise a brow at his vapid reasoning for wasting a good bottle of cheap rum. 

“sure are.” he ruffles your hair, tittering, until a few strands beetle out of your messy bun and etch against your forehead. 

“i’m really honoured and all that, but you’re making a mess out of my hairstyle.” you take his hand off your head and place it back on his chest. he rolls his eyes at your gesture, so you dab his shoulder to retort.

“so, tell me, how long do you have until you get home?” he asks. 

“until my company is done mingling.” you respond, checking in on the time again. 

“how long until you do?” you set a few steps back to lean against the wall behind you to seek support. 

“whenever i want to. my friend will be fine. he already has a baby sitter who can bring him home.” 

“a girlfriend?” you raise a brow at his statement.

the stranger nods his head, projecting a yes. 

“so why haven’t you left yet?” you ask. your attention swings to the door that’s flung open, but you don’t see kunimi walk out of the mob. kindaichi on the other hand, saunters out with a girl. their hands are entwined and the smiles on their face look like they’re bidding sweet, sugar-like locutions to one another.

“i was going to but i happened to run into you.” he darts a finger at you, wiggling it up and down. “and i had to stay. couldn’t leave you hanging.” 

“how nice of you. well, i guess i need to get going now. my friend is here, and we’ll be pulling out the second guy before we wield a ride home.” you laugh, then look at kindaichi, who’s still conversing with the girl he met earlier tonight. 

the man standing in front of you takes notice of your nictating vigilance at him that’s suddenly diverted to focus on kindaichi. 

“you know that guy?” his eyebrows furrow into a perplexed expression. 

“yeah, that’s my best friend. the one who forced me to come to this party.” you remark, informing him that you indeed personally associate yourself with kindaichi yutaro. 

“weird enough, i know him too. we went to the same highschool. kindaichi was my kouhai.” he says. “the world is a small place, eh?” is what he questions rhetorically, but you still respond. “it is.”

“y/n? iwaizumi senpai?” kindaichi’s gaze turns to you, face addled at the sight of you two together. the girl is comfortably trailing next to him with arms linked conveniently and a flushed face debossed with a satisfactory grin. 

“so they hit it off, eh?” iwaizumi, from what kindaichi said, leans a little low to whisper into your ear.

“looks like.” you concur, having examined the the way he interacts with her and her nonchalant requites at his simple gestures.

you raise an arm to wave a hello at kindaichi. “hey kindaichi. where’s kunimi?” you question.

“he’ll be out in a moment.” he replies, before shooting his attention right back at the lady beside. they whisper and laugh for a moment, before she sprints down the stairs, proffering farewell with a quick peck on his lips. 

kindaichi walks over to you. he tilts his head down a bit to greet his senpai, who you happened to run into earlier. “iwaizumi senpai. i didn’t expect you to be here.” he tries to set the flow for a conversation. 

“me neither, but your oikawa senpai insisted.” iwaizumi shrugs. “and that’s how i ended up coming to this trash house party.”  
  
“oikawa senpai is here too?” kindaichi’s eyes gleam in awe. that’s when it bolts to you. oikawa must be the argentinian volleyball player kindaichi and kunimi gush stockpiled praises about all day long on sundays, while laying on your apartment floor, enjoying their day off. 

“yes, but he’s too busy dancing and drinking.” iwaizumi chirps with hints of laughter left lost between the words. 

“oh, umm—.” kindaichi falls short of a respectable reply aimed at his elder. iwaizumi is quick enough to acknowledge his worry. “no need to worry, yutaro, i know you mean no harm.” he reassures his underclassman and your friend. “thanks, senpai.” kindaichi’s mouth twitches into a sheepish smile, while his senpai blinks at him assuringly. 

“well, i guess we should go get kunimi now.” you insist as you nudge kindaichi against his abdomen, rooting for his approval.

“sure, y/n.” he assents, before gyrating back to iwaizumi to bid a formal adieu. “it was nice to see you here, iwaizumi-san.” 

“likewise.” he nods his head to sympathise with kindaichi’s emotion.  
  
kindaichi shafts back into the mob of jolly people, jostling open the apartment door. 

“well, i’ll be going after him.” you bow to iwaizumi, before shoving your cardigan into your purse and turning back to the door that’s been left open for you. 

“wait, my name’s iwaizumi hajime, twenty seven, athletic trainer.” he holds out a hand, expecting you to reciprocate his handshake.   
  
you instantly turn around to face him. 

“that’s quite the detailed introduction.” you giggle with amusement at how flawlessly verbatim the locutions to his introduction just fell out.

“hey, i’m just trying to be decent.” his arms instinctually cross against his bosom, retorting your razzed comment.

“i’m kidding.” you hearten the mood, reassuring him.   
  
“i’m l/n y/n, twenty three, magazine editor.” you introduce yourself, with sneer threaded words, as you plagiarise his former choice of words. iwaizumi hajime can only roll his eyes at your taunting tone. 

you draw his right hand into a benevolent shake and let it go just as quick, when you comprehend how warm his palm feels against your shivering skin. 

the cold’s starting to steadily brim inside your body, having toiled away from the mob for a good while now. iwaizumi looks at your shaking figure. his hand reaches out for your bag, and he pulls out the cardigan that’s loosely tucked in, half of it drooping outside. he puts it over you and taps your shoulders for it to settle compact and prevent a fallout. you flush deep red and your sight drifts to the concrete flooring of the apartment lobby, striding away from his.

“it was nice meeting you, l/n.” he grins at you, heartily, putting up a hand to gesticulate a goodbye. 

“likewise, iwaizumi.” you smile at him, before pulling out a business card and sneaking it into the pocket of his overcoat.   
  


you re-enter the commotion of the carousing throng to look for your friends, but foremost, turning back one last time to catch a final glimpse of iwaizumi hajime, twenty seven, athletic trainer. he’s still grinning just a wide, with his hands sunk deep into the pockets of his black overcoat. he pulls out your business card and wags it in the air, signing a telephone with his left hand, inaudibly whispering, ‘i’ll call you sometime.’ you bite back a laugh, before finally closing the door behind you, and walking away from him.   
  


iwaizumi pulls out his cellphone to holler a cab ride home, sauntering the opposite way, to climb down the flight of stairs. 

—

two weeks later, you’re sitting at your office desk, with reading glasses on and a crisp ironed attire, skimming through pages of the article you edited the night before. your colleague who sits on the desk next to you, and often steals quick breaks to use the vending machine, calls you out. “y/n?” she looks regaled while handing out the bouquet of flowers to you.   
  
“someone left it for you at the front desk.” she says, continuing to stealthily admire the vending machine fixed at the end of the third floor vestibule. “you’re one lucky girly, y/n. better not let him go.” she wriggles her brows at you, delivering a razz statement, before walking away, diminishing into the distance. 

it doesn’t take you long to realise the flowers are from no other man, but iwaizumi hajime himself. it’s a definite guess, because the bouquet doesn’t wrap around a cluster of cliche red roses, but bright pink coloured azaleas. you did quickly pen down a note on the blank side of your business card before you handed it out to him that night.

ps. i’m not a fan of roses, just in case xx

you’re about to put the flowers away to continue with the vestiges of the day’s workload, when the business card you had given up two weeks ago drops to the ground, formely tucked in the corner of the flower boquet. you lift it up, and catch sight of a few extra words written down next to your own directed at him.

ps. i’m not a fan of roses, just in case xx

so i bought you azaleas instead ;) 

date sometime? text me //

xxxx-xxxx-xxxx 

—

your lips burst into a heartfelt grin, and you scribe down an okay next to his messy handwritten ‘this is my attempt to ask you out.’, jotting down a mental note to text him later. so you suppose, thinking back on your meet cute at the party, three years of crashing trashy, subpar parties with kunimi and kindaichi was worth it in the end.

you happened to thrust into hajime iwaizumi, who is a twenty seven year old man, also an athletic trainer (a job profile you are acquainted with, credits to kindaichi), with tan skin, dark chocolate tussocks accounting for his hair, shining spheres of deep brown swirling in the skull orbits, a witty mouth and altruistic stance.  
the longer you ponder about what constitutes iwaizumi hajime, a simple stranger with a bottle of rum to offer at half past eleven in the night, you met two weeks ago, the more it dons on you. it won’t hurt to give hajime iwaizumi, twenty seven, athletic trainer, a fair shot.


End file.
